


Can't, Won't

by unsettled



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Established Relationship, Kinktober, M/M, POV Quentin Beck, Peter is a Little Shit, Teasing, but so is Quentin, inappropriate use of webbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27222154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: If Quentin isn't going to behave, Peter can—will—make him.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Can't, Won't

Peter’s supposed to be giving him a blowjob.

Oh, he’s been lying down between Quentin’s legs for ages, but he’s just teasing, endlessly fucking teasing, Quentin’s dick never actually inside his mouth for more than a few seconds. “Peter,” he hisses. “Come  _ on.” _

All that gets him is Peter licking over the tip of his dick, looking up at him with it almost,  _ almost  _ in his mouth. “Do you want me to beg?” Quentin snaps.

“Actually, yeah,” Peter says. “That sounds awesome.”

“Fuck,” Quentin says. “Fine! Will you pretty please get your mouth actually on my dick?”

“That’s terrible begging,” Peter says, but a moment later he’s closing his lips around it, just below the tip and no more but it’s a start. 

It’s even better when he slides down a bit, his tongue working at it, hot and wet and so, so pretty. Quentin gets his hands in Peter’s hair; Peter looks up at him for a second, and it’s such a good view. 

He jerks when Quentin tightens his hands and pulls Peter down on his dick, thrusting up at the same time. Jerks and chokes and Quentin can’t stop him from pulling off entirely. “Ugh,” Peter says. “Don’t do that. I told you last time I don’t like it, so stop it.”

“I know, I know,” Quentin says. It’s so annoying that Peter’s like this when it comes to blowjobs, all his way or nothing at all. “Sorry, baby.”

Peter huffs at him, but he doesn’t make Quentin beg again. And he doesn’t make Quentin let go of his hair entirely, which is probably a mistake. Quentin  _ likes _ touching him while he does this though, he really does. 

He really doesn’t entirely mean to shove Peter back down on his dick again a few minutes later. Not really. It’s just habit and Quentin’s hands were right there and Peter’s mouth was right there, and it’s what he’s always done— shouldn’t Peter feel good he got Quentin wound up enough to forget himself?

Yeah, well, apparently not. 

“Seriously?” Peter snaps once he’s yanked out of Quentin’s grip. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry,” Quentin groans, “sorry, just— don’t stop now, fuck.”

“Okay,” and Peter grabs Quentin’s wrists, holds them together in one hand and does something with his other, shoving Quentin’s arms up and—

He’s fucking webbed Quentin’s hands to the head of the bed. 

“What?” Quentin says, staring up at them. “What the fuck, Peter, it was just—”

“You obviously can’t behave,” Peter says. Quentin glares at him, furious, but it’s not like he can do a hell of a lot about this. “Do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Of course I want one,” Quentin tells him. “What kind of question is that?”

Peter rolls his eyes, but gets back to it, finally. It was enough of a break to take the edge off, for Quentin to not feel compelled to get more of Peter’s mouth on him. Kind of. Look, how’s he supposed to know that thrusting up into it counts too?”

“You are impossible,” Peter says, Quentin’s hips jerking up to try and stay in his mouth and failing. “If you’re going to be like that—” and then Quentin’s thighs are webbed down too; he’s nearly unable to move from finger tips to hips. 

“God fucking dammit, Peter!” He tries to squirm around anyway, testing, but there’s no give at all. “Are you kidding? Why are you like this? What— ah,  _ fuck.” _

Peter’s awful, just awful, taking advantage of Quentin like this and taking his sweet time, going right back to all those teasing little licks and nuzzles and touches. Not a single bit of it that could actually get Quentin off, just rile him up and up. And worse, he’s enjoying it, the little shit. Is smirking at Quentin, outright laughing that Quentin is pissed.

Still turned on though.

He might not be able to move much, but he can kick around a bit, and he can talk. And he’s going to take full advantage of both. Not that it does him any good, because Peter just kicks his legs over Quentin’s and pins them down too, as immovable as the webbing. Talking isn’t any better, not threatening or talking dirty or straight up begging, all of it getting amusement from Peter and nothing more. He’s a fucking sadist.

Quentin runs out of words eventually, runs out of the ability to do anything except jerk against the webbing and pant, moan as Peter teases him. Maybe that’s what finally does it, what finally gets Peter to show a little mercy and start actually sucking him off, however slowly he might do so. 

“Honey,” Quentin whispers. “Fuck, Peter— please, you’re going to kill me, please—”

Peter is absolutely an asshole, because he has no problem going all the way down on Quentin’s dick, not like this. Only when Quentin tries to make it happen, apparently, fuck— he’s going to have to stop that, have— “Peter,” he groans, “shit, Peter, please, please just let me, let— god!”

Getting to come, finally? Fucking fantastic. Peter’s smug face after? ...a little less fantastic. 

Still kind of cute.

“Alright,” Quentin says. “You had your fun. Get me out of this already.”

“What?” Peter says. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“I— that’s not funny, Peter.” 

Peter pushes himself up, sitting back on his heels. “I wasn’t joking,” he says. “We’ve got about two hours before it dissolves on its own.

He crawls up over Quentin, leaning down and kissing him, with a little more bite than usual. When he pulls back, the look on his face makes Quentin swallow, hard. “Peter—”

“Shhh,” Peter says, scooting up more, almost sitting on Quentin’s chest. He gets his hand under Quentin’s head, curled in his hair, and pulls him up a little. 

Gets his other hand around his dick and presses the tip against Quentin’s lips, rubbing it across them and smearing precome all over. Quentin stares up at him, his mouth opening without him even meaning it to. Peter smirks.

“I wonder how we can fill the time?”


End file.
